Those Whom Chance Plays With
by CSS.Stravag
Summary: Side Story to Legend JW chapter 9. The battle rages onward, as Shani and Oruga are distracted from interfering in Clotho's challenge. How will this end? Only the dice know... Two-shot, rated M for second half.
1. The Most Brutal Game

(Jokers Wild, Set 1, Side Story 1: Those Whom Chance Plays With)

This is a side story I derived from something that simply sprang to mind in Chapter 9 of the main Jokers Wild story. The day of the cookout for the Three Ships was supposed to be a longer, more leisurely day than I made fit to show. In particular, it was a stand-down day for the _Mjolnr_, where only the minimum guard was to be on duty to keep peace for the ship, the rest of the crew was free to roam. This is the result of that plan: a more comprehensive showing of how well Magi personnel can screw around when off the clock, and the main character of this one, Clotho, is no exception.

Note: this is well beyond normal for me. The ending is going to be nowhere near usual for me, either. This whole fic is going to be very unusual, and not in a kid-friendly way. It is also going to not include much in the way of organized battle, either, so...

Story Info:

OC WARNING: Same as in the Jokers Wild main arc, this story will include some OC-centric parts, and not in the typical fashion. Of course the main characters and a lot of the secondary and side characters of SEED and SEED Astray will show up. You have been warned.

BAAAAAD LANGUAGE WARNING: This story revolves around a fleet of misfits and jokers. Expect foul language; they are Navy and Marines, after all. Also expect possible suggestiveness, crazy situations, interpretiveness, analysis, and lots and lots of violence. You have been warned.

ALCOHOL WARNING: There will be more than a few drinks had in this one. More than a few.

ANTI-POLITICAL-CORRECTNESS WARNING: To strive to be politically correct serves no purpose, for real life makes no such distinction. I will not do so. Death before dishonor. End of story. Please don't ask me to explain this one.

This story will be in two-shot story format.

And thus, onto the story from another corner of Existence...

* * *

(**Side Story of the Jokers Wild: Those Whom Chance Plays With**)

(0630 UTC)

"Hey, you must be one of those Druggies," the Marine Training Officer in the room says as Clotho walks in.

"Druggies?" Clotho asks in response. "Oh, you mean that Gamma-what-the-fuck-ever shit the Earth Alliance was feeding me?"

"Yeah, I heard about that shit. Word is the three 'scientists' that were controlling you are up on the chopping block, execution, for it."

"Wow, so long as I get to kill the tall one, I'm up for that," Clotho replies with a hint of savagery to voice. "Hey, you have any opens?"

"Only on the field holosim range," the Rangemaster declares. "All the live-fire range is taken up, and they're using high-cal stuff so we can't have unarmored personnel in there." The sound of a 120mm Short-charge infantry autocannon, despite being loaded with practice rounds, was still insanely loud even through the armored bulkheads.

"Works for me," Clotho replies. "Where to?"

"Head through lock four, the Range Instructor will get you set up."

"Aye, sir," Clotho walks through the said lock into the holosim range room.

"Morning, pilot, what can I do for you?" the Range Officer asks as Clotho closes the lock behind him.

"Oh, give me a small arms battery for starters, typical ranges, and crank the difficulty up slowly," Clotho asks.

"All right, plug your codex in the register block and get to it."

The room was arrayed similar to the old United States Army's 'Nintendo Rooms' which were a projector screen that showed a target field the soldiers shot at with pneumatic weapons. Here, the principle was the same, but the technology was slightly different. Rather than just a projected shooting field, the illusion of depth was given by way of holosim projections. The weapons used were the same weapons that the Infantry used, but had their firing mechanisms replaced with an electromagnetic recoil system that did not tie the user to a single location. Magazines were fed in and out of the weapon as normal to force simulation of using real ammunition, to which Clotho had picked up a web harness from the wall with the normal allotment of magazines for someone armed in the ship and not armored in Marine Armor (Marines carried a lot more ammo than a normal person could ever carry).

Clotho picked up the typical M4 carbine assault rifle, loaded a magazine and dropped the bolt closed on it. It was the work of a few seconds to get the sling situated to where he could carry easily, but nothing he had not practiced a few times since becoming one of the Magi. He also added on the typical dual leg tactical holsters, a pistol in the right holster and five magazines for it in the left holster (1).

"Ready to go, pilot?"

"Yes, sir," Clotho replies as he sets up a M249 SAW on the ground in bipod configuration to use if the enemy got too numerous. Knowing the almost sadistic training practices of Magi, the amount of targets Clotho would have to deal with as the match continued would steadily increase until he reached the point of impossible odds—then it was only a matter of time before he was singled out and swatted like a fly. If there was one thing about the soldiers represented in this Sim that he had always heard (Negaverse soldiers), they were not pussies. They would eventually take him down.

As he shouldered the M4 and took stance as he learned in the Wyoming Extended Training Facility, the enemies began showing up in the distance. Unlike normal arcade-style shooters and the old United States Army system this was derived from, Clotho had the option of moving around to take cover behind other simulated obstacles; the tree he was nearby came to be his home temporarily before he realized the tree was solid physically, not just light. "Whoa, what did you—how did you—ah?"

"Nanos, we use them to simulate physical matter if it moves slow," the instructor says. "Now, are you going to deal with them, or wait until they run up and bayonet your arse?"

"Oh," Clotho groans, then brings his M4 up and braces against the 'tree'. His first shots were a bit off, since he was used to the bullet drop of the Earth Alliance rifles, but it did not take him long to get on target for the first kill of his training round. True to the simulation model, the Negaverse unarmored infantry were not the best at aim, and the simulations of rounds hitting the tree he was behind were less than frequent, meaning they were rattling off a lot of rounds that had no hope of hitting him. Yet, at least. As the number increases, so do the odds...

The hall echoed to the sound of his gunfire and the sound of rounds whizzing through the air, a realism effect that Clotho was surprised he initially took for granted until it practically distracted him. He had to force himself back on target, not a simple task at just enjoying the quality of the sim, until he realized he was out of ammo. He dropped out his magazine and replaced it with a new one, drew the charge handle back, and released it to slam forward and theoretically load a round. With that done, Clotho was back on target and firing short bursts quite effectively that were wounding or killing enemy troopers at ranges beyond 300 meters, though it only took him a matter of seconds to empty his magazine and be forced to reload again.

Some other persons entered while Clotho was loading in his fourth magazine of the day, though he ignored them for focusing on his form and making sure he did not screw up his loading and firing procedure. The enemy had grown thick in numbers, more than he realized he was initially going to fight at one time, so he let his M4 hang and picked up the M249, a light machine gun more adept at 'crowd control' and simply went at it. With short, fast bursts he was able to thin out a whole squad of the theoretical platoon that had come looking for him, though the frequency of rounds getting close to him was increasing steadily and he figured it only a matter of time before he was toast.

It was the sound that first caused him to realize he wasn't alone any more. The louder, much more malevolent bark of a M2 heavy crew-served machine gun caused him to glance at the users—a pair of the Astray pilots from the _Kusanagi_. The first of their trio—Asagi, Juri, Mayura, Clotho knew of their exploits—was prone on the ground on the other side of the range, bracing against a simulated rock. And so far they were doing reasonably well with the M2, but not as well as Clotho was doing with the M249.

"Load me!" the M2 Gunner half-shouts over the increasing sounds of battle as she picks up a Javelin 5-B-6 and shoulders the monster weapon to sight through the targeting apparatus. A single Javelin was not a 100 percent threat to armor, but one could easily cause a serious amount of damage to lighter tanks, of which one was approaching and providing covering fire for the advancing infantry. The distinctive dual crack of first the missile being ejected from the Javelin tube was quickly followed by the crack and roar of the missile's engine taking off, and Clotho traced the missile in sim visually as it arced up and then down on top of the turret of the enemy hovertank, which then spectacularly shredded apart from a lucky ammo bunker hit.

"Deuce up! Go for it Mayura!" She had ejected the Javelin tube from the controller targeting unit, setting both aside and resuming the heavy MG and began cutting down the exposed infantry that thought the advance of one pathetic hovertank was going to give them a clear march at the enemy. Clotho joined in with gusto himself, at least until his ammo ran out for the M249 and he set it aside for the M4 again. His ammo for that did not last long, though, as he only had two mags left when he set down the M249, so he grabbed up the light machine gun by the handle and carried it back to the supply desk, where the attendant had a set of new mags ready for him for the M4 as well as three boxes of the M249 ammo and a LAWS rocket. Quickly he reloaded on the spot, which turned out to be not-so-quick at over twenty seconds to get both weps in battery, then headed back to his firing spot.

By the time he got back there, though, he knew it was over. The most damned-big tank he had ever seen had rolled onto screen, stopped, and a column of Infantry had formed up behind it. From where Clotho was standing, he could see the infantry, but the tank was the bigger worry since some of them carried special Autocannons that fired like a shotgun—and this could have been one. He set down the M249 temporarily and hefted one of the LAWS rockets to his shoulder.

"Damn, they're using that tank for cover! Asagi, head right and try to get some of those infantry before they crawl all over us!" Asagi shouts over the increasing roar of enemy fire incoming.

"Right!" the prone of the three had jumped up and began running toward the right, intending on going 20 meters in that direction, but was stopped by her hand buzzer going off and lighting up red.

"Asagi Caldwell down!" the administrator shouts.

"Special attack, punks!" Clotho fires off the LAWS rocket and immediately drops the tube aside to heft the second; he did not watch the rocket impact, but the sound of the blast was answer enough. He had the second rocket on target as Asagi was just reassembling the Javelin with a fresh missile tube to use before Clotho stopped, stunned: he was looking down the barrel of a large autocannon now, and it was a very large tank. Easily half larger than the Linear Tank.

They all had a few moments to watch the simulated autocannon fire and the tank recoil back before all three of their hand buzzers lit red and declared audibly they were dead with a loud buzzing noise.

"That's that, kiddies," the Administrator says; the three look back to the lady who was leaning against the corner of her desk. "The one thing you got wrong was you should have engaged the Von Luckner IIN right off the bat and hammered on it with LAWS and Javelins. A lucky critical hit could have stopped it, not out of pure damage, but the principle holds. Your shooting was dead on, though, you have special forces training?"

"Sort of," Juri replies. "A lot of time on the rifle ranges, that's all."

"I am spec forces trained," Clotho declares. "Not that Earth Alliance spec forces could hold jack or shit against Magi Marines, though," he notes begrudgingly.

"Well, for what it is worth, Clotho Bauer has the lead on taking down enemy infantry, where Mayura Labatt has the unit highest score due to taking down that Aeon Light Hovertank at twice its effective range. There again, luck was the determining factor; normally it would take three or four Javelin hits to take one down on damage alone, and then it can still be a threat."

"How effective can these things be against Earth Alliance Linear Tanks?" Juri asks, pointing to the Javelin.

"Yeah, or how about a Mobile Suit?" Asagi asks immediately thereafter.

"Linear Tanks don't have much in the way of armor, so one or two would disable them or kill the crew. Mobile Suits are a different story, they tend to have heavier armor spread all over, which makes taking them down for even armored infantry a dicey proposition. Can't say more than that, sorry."

"Well, that was freaking nuts," Clotho says. "At least I can still shoot."

He would not admit it, but the fact that Mayura beat him on score was grating on him in a less than pleasant way.

-x-x-x-

(1010 UTC)

"If I'm not riding the edge, I'm not happy," Clotho replies to a question on how much he was turning his chips in at any given time for raw C-bills, or at least credit to his account. Hard C-bills was something rare to come by on the ship, but credit transfers from one account to another were not significantly difficult. On the other hand, Clotho liked the thrill of playing a game pretty much 'instant death' faceoff, which engendered such actions as constantly turning in his winnings.

"You say so, kid," the dealer replies.

"I'm out," an Aerofighter pilot groans, having been cleaned out by an Engine Mechanic and the eponymous Clotho.

"And who's our next victim?" Clotho asks after a few moments.

"Hey, any objections to an Orb pilot joining in?"

"No, miss, so long as you have the typical entry fee," the Dealer asks while Clotho was trying to convince the waitress to fetch him another martini. He was not succeeding in coaxing another drink out of her, but that did not stop him from trying.

"Can do," the scrape of a chair leg drew Clotho's attention back to the table, and to the new player. "Oh, you," she says as she realizes who she was looking at.

"You," Clotho replies, somewhat surprised to see Mayura on the other side of the table now.

"You try again at the range sim?"

"No, that one tank taking us down was enough demoralize for one day." _Not to mention the fact that you outscored me by trashing that hover tank_, Clotho thinks but does not say.

"Big, wedge-shaped turret, main autocannon and coaxial laser with a LRM pack in its own pintle mount? Twice larger than a Linear Tank?" the dealer asks.

"Yeah, sounds about right. I think the controller called it a Von-Von-Von-Something, I don't freaking remember," Clotho dismisses the matter.

"Von Luckner IIN, some seriously heavy metal. Often called a heavy Battlemech on treads. Capable of tearing apart smaller Mobile Suits in less than five seconds, no questions asked. Negaverse version, the II-N variant, is cheaper and comes in only one configuration, but it will still stomp a medium 'Mech or most Mobile Suits flat in seconds. If there was less than a dozen of you fighting it, you were pretty much toast," coming from a blooded Star Colonel of Mobile Suits, the Gundam pilot heeded his words well. Clotho figured Raider would turn one into a 75-ton pile of scrap fast enough, but he had to remind himself that all six of the Star Empires had energy-resistant armor technologies that would make the Earth Alliance drool. A Quick kill in such a battle would be practically nonexistent, but a 'fast enough' kill could be done.

"Ready to go?" the dealer asks Mayura, who nods. The players each drop in a series two C-bill chips to start the pot; the cards were dealt as normal, five-card draw was the game so each player received five cards. Clotho checked his cards and found himself off to a good start with a pair of fours. The other players gave none of their usual indications that they were well off, though the Aerofighter Tech two seats to Clotho's left was looking a bit shaky...

"Call?"

"Call," the Aerofighter tech declares.

"Call," the Engine tech says.

"Call," Clotho adds after a moment.

"Call," the Star Colonel to Clotho's right says.

"Call," Mayura finishes up after a moment.

"Declare draws," the dealer (a Mobile Armor pilot when on duty) orders.

"Two," the Aerofighter tech requests.

"Four," the Engine Tech asks for, and four she received.

"Three," Clotho requests. His next few moments were spent rearranging his cards, to which he found that he now had a pair of sixes to go along with his pair of fours.

"Call?" the dealer asks again.

"Call," the Aerofighter Tech answers.

"Call," the Engine Tech replies.

"Oh, I think I'll drop ten," Clotho says offhand.

"In," the Star Colonel replies as he tosses in the requisite amount.

"In," Mayura offers up her 10 c-bills worth of poker chip.

"Out," the Aerofighter Tech drops his cards.

"Out," the Engine Tech was a little more dramatic about surrendering, his cards ended up sliding into the center of the table nearby the chips.

"Call," Clotho prompts. Despite riding the edge, he was not going to push his luck on raises on two pair.

"Call," the Star Colonel declares in response.

"Call," Mayura says.

"Two pair," Clotho drops his cards face up, showing the sixes and fours with a queen high.

"Fuck, there was that other Queen I needed," the Star Colonel had in his possession a pair of queens and that was it.

"Nothing on him," Mayura had only a pair of sevens, definitely nothing to challenge Clotho.

"How do you want it, Gundam pilot?" the dealer asks, knowing that Clotho never held onto his whole pot.

"Ten I shall hold, the rest in," Clotho requests, which made him thirty C-bills richer since what he banked he would not touch in this game.

"Can do," two of the five-point chips came his way, the remainder went back into dealer hands and were immediately credited to his salary account. "Next hand," he calls Everyone throws their starting chips in, two C-bills worth each as the table rules required.

"Call," the Engine Mechanic says when he gets a good look at his cards.

"Call," Clotho replies a moment later.

"Bet 5," the Star Colonel drops said chip in.

"Raise fifteen," and Mayura drops twenty in the pile. Clotho noticed a twitch on her left cheek, which he thought might be a sign she was pushing something here...

"Out, way the hell out," the Aerofighter Tech declares.

"No go," the Engine Tech adds.

"I'll take that bet," Clotho dumps in his twenty, which nicked almost half of his chips on hand.

"Too rich for me," the Star Colonel sets his cards down on the table.

"Cards?" the dealer requests next.

"Four," Clotho requests. The four he received matched what he was hoping: in addition to the ace he held, he now had another ace and a pair of eights, giving him two pair, or, unbeknownst to the Raider pilot, a 'Dead Man's Hand'.

"Two," Mayura requests immediately thereafter, and receives her pair.

"Call time, pilots," the dealer orders.

"Bet of ten," Clotho declares as he drops in another ten c-bills worth.

"How about I raise you to your whole on-hand stack," Mayura replies with something of an evil smile, pushing a stack of chips just above his total on hand into the pot.

Clotho chuckles grimly; he knew he had her bluff and would call her on it just for the kick, not to mention whooping her in a one-on-one as this had become. "Hope it's worth it," Clotho half-taunts her as he pushes the rest of his stack in.

"Any raise?" Mayura nods neg to settle the betting. "Show 'em," the dealer concludes.

"Here's your challenge," Clotho says, setting his hand on the table.

"Aces and Eights, a classic Dead Man's Hand," the dealer notes. "Your counter?"

"Finishing—" Mayura sets the cards down in a stack; "—move," and draws the last word out a moment more as she uses one finger to spread her cards. Three queens, heart, diamond and spade.

Clotho deflates visibly in his chair, realizing she had defeated him twice already and this one included using his own favorite game saying against him.

"Game over, man, game over," he grumbles to the surface of the table.

"You all right?" the Star Colonel asks.

"I'll live," Clotho says as he straightens up. "Guess I'll have to continue another time. Have a good afternoon, all," he says in a gratingly civil fashion, which everyone at the table could tell was his way of keeping from blowing up over whatever matter had upset him.

Most of the patrons were rather phlegmatic about it, but all wondered why he was so frustrated.

-x-x-x-

(1245 hours UTC, Club 300)

"Hey, you're that Gundam Pilot, aren't you? Clotho, from the _Dominion_, right?"

Clotho turned around slightly to look at the speaker, though he was less than surprised to see the trio of Astray pilots that seemed to be haunting him today. In so doing he came extremely close to slipping off the stationary barstool he was sitting on in the Club 300, but he managed to retain his balance.

"Am so," he replies in a slightly loaded fashion. "You three must be the infamous Astray Girls from the _Kusanagi_, I'm guessing," he replies with what he hoped was dignity.

"C'mon, let's get a table, we'd like to talk to you," Clotho could barely tell which one of them had said it (he thought it was the blonde in their ranks) but did not complain. Nor did he have much of a choice in the matter; Mayura and Asagi 'escorted' him from his barstool to the table they had in mind, a corner booth, as Juri remained behind to place an order of drinks for the four.

Clotho found himself rather adroitly trapped by Mayura on one side, Asagi on the other, and Juri reinforcing Asagi shortly thereafter. "Uhh, if this is about my Honda payment, I swear I'll pay it off after the Magi beat ZAFT and the Earth Alliance senseless, I swear it," Clotho offers as an opening position.

"Good," Juri replies, playing along with his joke. "While we're at it, I heard a strange rumor about the Magi. Did you know that the name Magi is supposedly shorthand for Multimage?"

"No, it ain't, it's an old insult the Illyaris coined to mean 'Wise asses' instead of 'wise men', but it stuck when the New Moon Empire started using it in meaning of 'wise men'. Used long enough that even the Magi call themselves Magi more than they call themselves Multimages...I hope I got that right," Clotho declares.

"But they really do call themselves Multimages, right?"

"Sometimes," Clotho tells them with a bit of a speech impediment.

"Why that name? Kinda bizarre for such a great Empire and all that," Asagi comments offhand, sipping her beer cautiously.

"Old, old principle," Clotho replies. "It was the name of the First Emperor's profession. He was a completely farked dude, kicked out of his homeland on one planet in one dimension because he was too good for the army there, learned spellcraft from the Valkyrie of old Norse legend, trained his family in those spells, and was kicked off-planet to another dimension for being too good once again. Push came to shove, found himself embroiled in a revolution on his new homeworld, ended up a General in the new government after leading the revolution to victory, then through some shit I don't understand became the Emperor of the planet...and thereafter more planets, then more planets, and soon he was a real Emperor of a really farked up Empire that built this ship. Make sense?" Of course, in his drunken state he was grossly oversimplifying details left, right and center, but he got the gist of it correct.

There was a pause of about thirty seconds, as he looked from one to the next several times. "Something up?" Clotho asks after realizing that they had not only drank all their beers dry, they were staring at him like he just shouted there was a purple-striped elephant in the room.

"That is batshit crazy," Mayura declares. "I mean, who really believes that magic is real?"

"Hey, I am simply telling you how they explained the founding of the Empire to me. Another thing, the Remembrance of the Emperor includes a lot of magic reference, just what I have read so far. It may be real, who the fuck knows what is real when you get down to it? By our own definition of real, this ship should not exist!"

"Whoa, man, whoa!" Asagi cautions; Juri went to the bar to get more drinks for everyone, likely out of desperation over the absolutely batshit logic involved. "Don't get defensive, man! Some of us think you aren't lying."

"Funny way of showing it," Clotho declares. "Oh, what did'ja get me this time?" he asks as Juri sets a pilsner glass in front of him with a red drink in it.

"Sweet Tart. Combination of vodka, grenadine, and sweet 'n' sour." Juri had also grabbed herself the same, but beers for Mayura and Asagi.

"Never heard of it," Clotho declares. "Well, game on!" he slugs the large and likely potent drink, but does not down the whole thing at once. "So, what else is eating you three?"

Asagi groans at his extremely tactless phrasing, being the least-drunk of the four at the table she had the best 'judgment' of them all and immediately concluded that he was being a pervert when he was not. Mayura dismissed it to him being buzzed at the least, not thinking that

"Well, if Magi society does have Mages, then why aren't there any on this ship?" Juri asks, overlooking or ignoring his play on words.

"Yeah, this would be as good a place as any to have 'em," and Asagi was beginning to sound hosed as well.

"Fucked by the Game-Masters," Clotho replies immediately; it was one of the first things he learned about the ship was how badly screwed the ship was by the Admiralty Review. "The Division of forces that this ship belongs to, the Magi Techstrikers, has an obscure political jerkoff branch called the Admiralty Review and Assignment Board. Incompetent fucks. They did their damndest to kill this ship off, not enough crew, not enough escorts, not enough supplies, and no Strategic Mage as it is supposed to have. If the ship had a Strategic Mage, none of this shit would have happened, I'd still be Earth Alliance and you'd still be in the _Kusanagi_ because nobody would have ever met the _Mjolnr_, they'd be home already and whopping major portions of ass."

"Whoa, so you're saying that a Strategic Mage could do the same thing this ship can, jump between dimensions?" Juri asks.

"Yeah, something like that," Clotho says. "I don't know what all badassness a Strategic Mage is good for, but I know they badass based on their pay-grade."

"Huh?" Mayura prompts.

"The more ass you kick, the higher your pay-grade in the Magi. I'm a Veteran Gundam Pilot, so I get fifteen thousand C-bills a year, which comes out to somewhere between forty-five and sixty thousand Earth Dollars a year."

"No freaking way!" Mayura half-shouts. "You get paid that much? How can the Magi do that?"

"I never asked," Clotho admits. "My beer math may be off, though; you could ask Oruga, he has all the figures figured. Or something like that."

"Right," Juri grumbles, realizing either she was grossly underpaid or the Magi personnel were seriously overpaid, or possibly both. Fifty Thousand a year to drive a Gundam and Clotho was only a _Veteran_? There were still two grade of pay over him if she remembered her briefing on Magi ranks and ratings correctly, not to mention officer's ranks probably also made more (she was not willing to put the honorific 'earned' to their pay system yet, unless they really were worth that kind of pay-grade).

"Thanks, Clotho, you helped us quite a bit," Mayura drops a twenty in front of him to cover the drinks. "Here, this'll pay for the drinks, keep the change. Talk to you later," and before Clotho could say a word the three pilots were headed toward the door.

"Holy shit," Clotho grumbles.

"Feeling all right?" Clotho takes a moment to focus in on the asking individual, then realizes it was his titular commanding officer, Gerald Lightbringer.

"Yeah, sir, except, I don't have a freaking clue what game I was just playing, but I know I lost big-time," Clotho replies blearily.

"Plied you with a load of booze and pumped you for information," Gerald says as he takes a seat. "No big deal, they did not ask about anything even sensitive, it's all there in the paperwork if they weren't freaking lazy and did their homework. Can you stand?"

"I can, sir, if I was not at this cramped-ass booth," he replies stoically. "Am I...in trouble or something?"

"Oh no, quite the opposite. You have an invite to lunch at the Sniper Bar and Grill, and I figured you'd want the chance to try and at least out-eat or out-drink those three for some form of victory today. Not that you have not already done so, but best I give you a chance for some serious street credit." Gerald stands up and prepares to move away, but stops. He dropped a blister-pack of pills in front of Clotho. "Nanos to clean the alcohol out of your system. Take two, thirty minutes you should be good. Out of your system in an hour. Doesn't get much better than that."

Clotho eyed the pack of pills, then took them without much in the way of hesitation.

-x-x-x-

(1345 hours UTC, Sniper Bar and Grill)

"Hey, you're here?" Clotho glances to the speaker, Juri, but that was it. "Oh, don't tell me you're angry at us," she asks while sitting down. Asagi and Mayura were quick to join them, since this was their table as per the cards with their names on them. Gerald had arranged it so, as well as putting Oruga and Shani elsewhere, with some of the other Astray pilots, to help people get to know each other better.

"Fine, I won't tell you," Clotho replies. "I owe you for the drinks earlier, so I took the liberty of ordering you each an Apple-Tini each. And next time you guys want info like that, do the homework. It's all there in the manual, if or when you look for it."

"And how are you...well, you were hosed an hour and a half ago, how did you—" Mayura was silenced by the arrival of the waiter with menus and the Apple-Tini drinks.

"Technology and magic, Mayura. One or the other is good, combine the two and you can push the horizons of reality way back." _Not to mention that the Magi enjoy a good beer or three every now and again_, Clotho thinks with a grim chuckle behind a passive mien. "Unfortunately, all we have right now is technology, but I think the cook can work wonders with just about any cut of beef you give him. And then there's that whole thing I told you about, y'know, no wizards on this ship, damn pity that is. I wouldn't mind learning that skill myself. Now, mind telling me who put you up to that?"

"If you're buying the drinks this time, I think I owe it to you," Juri replies. "Erica Simmons heard it from one of the Engine Mechanics, she wanted us to get it from an officer, but we figured you might know, so..."

"How are your drinks, sir, madame?" the waiter asks as he stops at their table.

"Excellent, though if you would, please pass onto the bartender that I would like a large pitcher of Special Recipe Mudslide whipped up, a little heavier on the Kahlua than normal."

"Can do, pilot," the Waiter replies.

"And one other thing. This table's drinks don't get charged back to the Century Commander, clear? I owe them a bit of a debt, so I'll cover it."

"Will do," he replies before headed off for the bar.

"Am I going to regret this?" Mayura asks completely straight.

_Yes_, Clotho thinks but does not say. "Nah, this is a house specialty. It's just like a chocolate milkshake with a buzz-kick to it. Makes a Sweet Tart look small and pathetic. Very good stuff, I even heard where it came from but I can't remember right now. Interesting story, if I'm thinking about the right drink."

In the interim Gerald had stopped the activity to inform them why they were getting a free dinner and drinks, which from reactions given by the three Astray pilots was a nice way to show appreciation and solidarity with the underdogs. Moments afterward the waiter had come in with the pitcher and different glasses more suitable to a half-frozen half-liquid slurry.

"This...is a mudslide? I thought it was made with ice, not ice cream," Asagi asks.

"It's a special recipe our bartender picked up from a mercenary in our homeland. 'Crazy' Erich Hess, Command Fieldmarshall of Sigma, it's a family recipe he picked up from his parents. Ice cream replaces the usual ice in the mudslide recipe, mixed with Mudslide mix and Kahlua. Enough horsepower to knock some wussy Marines stiff, enough varied chocolate-style flavorings to bring to mind a chocolate milkshake with a hint of coffee, not enough high-power stuff to make it illegal or hazard of alcohol poisoning. Now, are you ready to place your orders?" he asks respectfully.

After the four placed their respective orders for dinner, Clotho served everyone a round of the Mudslide. Juri was the first to comment on it: "This is surprisingly good, if very high on the 'should not have' list."

"No fooling," Asagi replies between short, fast sips of hers.

"I could get used to a drink like this," Mayura replies. "Which means I'm not doing one of these again until after I'm thirty."

Clotho's first sip of the mixed milkshake made him wonder if the bartender put a few shots of vodka in it above and beyond the normal recipe, which he sometimes did at the request of Century Commander Lightbringer or some of the other more senior officers, with a corresponding batch price increase that wasn't even a dent in Magi salaries or sensibilities. The second sip made him wonder if it had been custom mixed without the normal mudslide mix, instead using chocolate and something stronger than vodka, but he dismissed it as being picky and on edge right now.

"What'll you do after the war is over?" Asagi asks about halfway through her first mudslide.

"I dunno yet, probably hang on with the Magi until they leave, but I don't think I am going home with them at the end of their time here. I'll stay here and beat the shit out of the Earth Alliance until they fold or I die, whichever comes sooner."

"You'll die first," Mayura replies almost coldly. "No offense, but getting rid of a government is no simple task. Took a lot of the Earth Alliance terrestrial forces to take out Orb, and I think the Magi could do better than our self-defense forces." She still wasn't willing to directly give them more credit than Orb until they proved it, just the possible that maybe, just maybe Magi claims about their skill were justified. And as far as she was concerned, it would take quite a lot to prove it.

"Thanks," Clotho replies almost sharply. "What're you three going to do?"

"If we survive, we're going to open our own engineering firm after we're through with our military enlistment and college. Labatt, Caldwell and Nien." Juri sounded very hopeful about the plan, even over her own caveat that they may not survive.

Clotho poured the three another round of Mudslide, then himself. A quick check on the pitcher showed enough for a third round and that was it.

"Whoa, this stuff has some serious power to it," Mayura echoes Clotho's earlier thought. "I think I need to slow down on it. But it's soooo good," she continues on; Clotho could tell he was winning this game, but not by much.

"Looks like Asagi beat you to it, Mayura," and Clotho was instantly reminded that she had had three beers, an Apple-Tini and a curiously powerful Mudslide, which explains why she was effectively out and only barely breathing.

"Lightweight," Mayura declares harshly. "Shame to waste good drinks on her."

"True," Juri replies. "Oh, our dinner is here!"

"I'm saved!" Mayura replies as she looks over the massive hamburger and fries. Clotho had ordered the same, Juri had a chicken caesar salad, and the unconscious Asagi had ordered grilled chicken breasts.

"Just the smell of these is amazing. Do they have a special academy for galley staff or something?" Asagi asks nobody in particular.

"I think they do," Clotho replies calmly.

"More than a few, actually," the waiter completes the answer. "The titular Sniper for the grill, the head chef, graduated with honors from the number three academy, and he was submitted to attend the top culinary academy for the military, but the shit with the Admiralty Review kept him from it until we landed here." Of which, the latter problem meant that there was no way he was going to do the best academy when he had come here and likely would not be leaving any time soon.

"Oh, that stinks," Mayura gripes. "Maybe he could do an academy or something on—no, that probably would not work, given what we'll probably have to do to the Earth Alliance soon enough."

Clotho could tell she was starting to have speaking problems, mostly in her redundancy of phrasing. Dinner seemed to revive everyone's gusto, to which Clotho ordered a series of PPC drinks—something very unusual and very much in tune with mobile warfare, as Clotho explained (3). Shortly, three Negaverse PPCs were delivered to the table, almost crimson drinks in a rocks glass that looked sinister but smelled great. "Uh, what's in this?"

"Four shots of base drink, weak stuff that I forget what they use, two shots grenadine, one shot grape wine and two shots grape pucker. The Negaverse First Army, the Dark Army as they called themselves, the 'mechwarriors always had one of these before they pitched their battles. Tough bastards."

"Really?" Mayura taunts him. "And you can handle this?"

"No guts, no galaxy," Without a second thought, Clotho chugged his whole drink in a matter of two gulps and slammed the glass down with an explosive release of breath. "Oh, man, my respect for those Negaverse bastards just went up two notches, if they can do that routinely," he gasps out between ragged breaths.

"Well, I'll have to agree with you on that one, no guts no galaxy." Moments later Mayura's glass hit the table.

Juri made the classic mistake of a PPC drinker: she did not slam it, she sipped. After four sips, her mouth went numb, making her a poster-case for tongue-tied by alcohol, though in the end she did manage to finish it off. And not thirty seconds later was unconscious from it.

"Damn, man, looks like it's just you and me," Mayura comments after seeing that Juri was now sleeping fairly soundly along with Asagi. "Hey, you still with me, crazy guy?"

"Yeah, sorta," he replies.

"I'm gone, man. It's embarrassing—embarassing to ask, but can you help me back to the _Kusanagi_?" A gagging sound from the command section table provided both a momentary distraction, as apparently Athrun Zala was having problems with his dinner for some reason, though a few well-timed smacks on the back from Kira cleared everything up.

"Yeah, sure, I guess," Clotho replies as he stands up. "Drop it on my tab, good sir, and I'll be in later tonight or tomorrow to pay up," he tells the waiter after standing.

"No worry, already deducted your payroll for it. Enjoy the evening, sir, ma'am." The waiter was immediately off to service another table, so as not to draw any untoward attention to them.

Clotho followed at a decent distance behind Mayura as per her request, though after they got out into the main corridor it became fairly obvious that Mayura couldn't even brace against the wall right. Without even getting a decent feel, he gave her a shoulder to brace against to continue the long-ass journey toward the _Kusanagi_'s docking collar. After two hundred meters and three levels down from the central shaft, Clotho realized that she was out as well, and that in his toasted state he wasn't really able to carry her alone.

Clotho tried, tried mightily to get her to the Kusanagi, but in the end he hit the deck in a pile with Mayura on top. In so doing he landed angled outward toward the Dominion's dock collar.

* * *

Author's Chapter Afterword:

Even when piss-eyed drunk, Clotho does not like losing. At all. And will go out of his way to try to win, even if he has to change the game severely.

This one is a serious departure from my normal. I don't think I have ever considered something this politically incorrect for some time, much less that which I plan for the second half of it. No spoilers there, but I have only one thing to mention on that note: you can technically get away with not reading the second half of this story and not miss anything in terms of plot, but you will miss some entertainment value (if you find such actions entertaining). Again, no spoilers as to what will go on, but...

I figured that of the three Astray girls, the likely one for going head to head with the Dominion's resident gamer would have been Mayura, due to the fact that she is listed as a tomboy and leader. People like that do not surrender in the face of competition. Other than the Astray series, I have not seen much in the way of characterization of her, so if I fouled up somewhere, I would like to know.

Next up: Conclusion of the day's misadventures for Clotho and Mayura, fueled by a misunderstanding on a certain Marine's part...

* * *

Review Replies: No reviews on this Two-shot yet.

* * *

The Gripe Sheet: No gripes, this is the first chapter...

* * *

Footnotes:

(1): Despite the proliferation of infantry armor and body armor, the Magi still consider the pistol a serious weapon system, and is especially deadly in trained hands with the advent of stable explosive ammunition. The Magi have never signed the Hague convention, instead preferring to fight in a fashion that mirrors the enemy's capability and willingness to use weaponry or savagery. This will be better explained and illustrated in an upcoming chapter of the main arc.

(2): Javelin, Revision five, Block six. A Javelin Anti-tank missile rebuilt in the fifth revision arsenal standard, conforming to block six performance requirements (in this case, range of 22 kilometers and limited anti-countermeasure capabilities). Javelin, in any configuration, is designed to kill tank crews by way of shrapnel from the blast hole it puts into the interior of a tank. Against heavier Negaverse and Magi tanks, however, it is not always capable of penetrating the armor.

(3): A PPC is named after the Battlemech weapon that shoots charged direction ion bolts. Much like the namesake Battletech weapon, this is a hard-hitting drink that even the author has problems with.


	2. Non Standard End Scenario

(Chapter 02: Non-Standard End Scenario)

(1355 hours UTC, nearby dock collar to _Dominion_)

"Marine 242, time check please," Helga asks as she continued her patrol route around the port-side dock collar areas.

"242, Control, show time as 13:55:38, status check requested."

"242 reports no activity in my area, empty hall—ah, scratch that report, command. I have a pair of drunkards at my location that didn't quite make it back to their quarters."

"Do you have ID on them?"

"Negative, not off hand. One of them is _Kusanagi_ personnel, the other is one of ours. 242 reports I am diverting from patrol at this time to deliver them to intended destination, will leave sensor probe at last point of patrol route to cover."

"Roger that, you are authorized."

Helga, the huge one of her point of five Marines, pulls a small fold-open beacon and sets it on the floor of the intersection leading to the _Dominion_'s dock collar, and as soon as she releases the handle it begins working. Anything that moved in the halls in line of sight to the probe or within 25 meters of the beacon itself would be caught by the ultrasonic or visual reference sensor systems built into the beacon, and Helga would know right where they stood.

Give that she was not wearing her assault shield, picking the two up was a simple task, as one fit nicely under each arm with little strain to the genetically-engineered Marine. In so doing she got a clear look at the guy that was half-buried under the lady: "Oh, I know you," Helga grumps. She had dragged Clotho back to his quarters more than once in the past month, for either disorderly conduct or being drunk out of his wits. "Typical pilot. Come on, looks like you both were headed for your place, might as well get you there."

Thankfully the Earth Alliance had been more than prescient enough to have engineered the _Archangel_-class ships with wide enough manholes, bulkhead doors, and corridors that a Marine could easily walk down the length of the ship without scraping his or her shoulders on anything. Finding his pilot's quarters was a simple task, she had been there before, and this time there was no crew or an officer to question why a Marine was dragging one of the _Dominion_'s pilots back to his quarters. She partially wondered what had happened to Clotho after that incident, but she could also guess it was not a pretty outcome in the end.

Inside, she left the lights off to avoid flashing them awake. She knew which bunk was Clotho's bunk, said pilot had purchased an ancient gaming system from her that she won in a trial of possession over a pallet of personal effects from a different Marine, and that gaming system was prominently secured to the wall so it could be used whenever he was in bed. Helga took a moment to straighten out the covers and then put the two of them in bed, lumping Clotho towards the wall and the lady—Labatt was her nametag—in the middle of the bed. _Courtesy due the lady_, Helga justifies how she set it up for them to sleep it off, though it was not as if they were not both in comfortable positions.

She was out into the corridors of the _Mjolnr_ in a matter of three minutes. "Control from Marine 242, reporting returning to patrol at this time."

"Anything you need to report, 242?"

"Neg, Command, just a couple of pilots returning to their quarters to sleep it off, and never quite made it."

"Well, this is the day for such problems, with all the partying going on for the Three Sisters."

Helga picked the probe up, deactivated and folded it up, and continued walking on her patrol route. As far as she was concerned, the pilots being passed out almost all the way back to his quarters was a non-issue.

-x-x-x-

(1515 hours UTC, warship _Dominion_)

Clotho stirred to consciousness, not clearly remembering what he was doing before he crashed. He did immediately recognize the smell of his bed, which told him that he probably got plastered by 'bar-hopping' (such as it was possible on the _Mjolnr_) and wiped out somewhere, only to be dragged back to his quarters by a Marine. Some of them were cold enough to let him just lay wherever he wiped out, others actually took the KO'd back to their quarters.

After a few more moments of trying to remember, he realized that the end had come trying to outdo Mayura at drinking, since she whooped his ass at everything else over the course of the day. Nothing special there, losing his game, whatever it be, was par for the course. Made the inevitable victories just that much more savory.

"Unh, might as well take a shower and find some buzz-killers," Clotho tells the ceiling. He got along fairly well with the ceiling, almost as well as he did with Shani, though he did better with Oruga when hosed. Captain Jamestown, though, was freaking hilarious when slightly plastered, but got progressively more sullen the more he got buzzed. Why thinking about the ceiling brought about thinking who was cool to hang out with when drunk did not quite register with him, but it happened.

Clotho began to reach for the left edge of his bed, where he normally gripped to push himself out of bed, but found something quite different from the mattress he was expecting at the wrong altitude to be his mattress or any of his pillows, despite the soft give of the object in question. "What the hell," he grumbles as he tries to figure out what he had a grip on. Whatever it was happened to be warm, rounded, firm but pliable...and attached to something snoring, the latter which did not last long after he started trying to figure out what part of whom he was holding. _Maybe a shoulder_, he thinks blearily.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't squeeze my breast so hard," a voice says clearly.

"Huh?" Clotho slackens his grip, thinking he recognized the voice— "Ah, great," he grumps.

"What?" Mayura asks.

"I spend all day getting my ass whooped by you, and even when we pass out you end up with the lion's share of the bed. The Fates just plain don't like me."

"So that's what you were so crotchety about," she replies. "You thought we were competing or something, did'ja? Bah," Mayura half-sneers at him. "And you're even worried about your bed and who has the most of it?"

"So I'm a very 'spirited' type," Clotho explains, using an old Magi euphemism for competitive.

Mayura started giggling at his comment, then more so, then outright laughing. "Spirited? _Spirited_? I know twelve-year-old kids that do more to _win_ than you did!" She has another fit of laughing. "You're freaking not even doing anything with your grip right now! That's not spirit, that's wussie!"

"Oh," Clotho pulls his hand back. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Pathetic. I'll bet you don't even know how to get a girl off, do you?" She asks in clear derision.

"I could try," Clotho replies. His courses at Lodonia had not covered that, they had given a perfunctory sexual education class (so they didn't blow it completely if they were out and about undercover) and that was it. He knew the mechanics of the matter, but not much more than that.

"_Anybody_ could try, Clotho. The freaking Man in the Moon could try," Mayura decides on a whim to relent, but not entirely. "Eh, okay, you can try. Get me off, and we'll call it even for the day. Blow it, and I'll make sure the whole ship knows how much a loser you are. And no dick action unless you get me off, got it?"

"Huh? Then how am I supposed to get you off?"

"Oh God you're clueless," Mayura grumps. "Use your freaking fingers! What rock did the Earth Alliance keep you under?"

"Trained since a kid as a soldier and assassin. I think the Magi call 'em tykebombs or something like that," Clotho says.

"Holy spirits almighty," Mayura replies, half-shocked. "An Extended? No way." Mayura had heard a lot of rumors about the Extended program, but thought they were just that. Except, what Clotho had just told her matched the one common thread among the rumors: they were all trained from very young to be merciless killers.

"Way," Clotho replies almost casually. "Labs, brutal training day after day, the chemical therapy, and most of all counting the other students that just suddenly disappeared, no warning or reason at all." He sighs. "Every day, we wondered who'd be next, who'd game over for real, and who'd actually get the job. Every day."

"I..." Mayura falls silent. "I was wrong about you. You're not just some arrogant asshole Earth Alliance convert, you're the real deal. That's just...just insane." Mayura made to spring up to her feet and out of the bed, but in her still three-quarters drunk state all she accomplished was standing briefly before overbalancing and falling flat on the ground.

"What?" Clotho asks as he crawls to the edge of his bunk and looks at the Orb pilot laying on the deck. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, no, I just...I just need some time to think," Mayura says.

"You picked a weird place to do some thinking," Clotho replies. "Crawl up into Shani's bed and take a nap. Helps with thinking." Clotho was at least a little more cautious than Mayura, and did not move fast in standing up.

"Where you going?" She asks as he begins slowly pacing his way toward the bathrooms.

"I'm—SHIII—" Not realizing his right foot was hooked under the small of Mayura's back, Clotho hit the ground harder than Mayura did. "Heading for the floor," he concludes, trying to make light of his ineptitude.

Mayura found it more than a bit funny. "Looks like we both need to sleep it off."

"Screw that, I'm taking a shower. If I ever get over there."

"Fine, but don't use all the hot water," she orders.

-x-

"Did you see where he went?"

"Nope, never even saw him leave the Sniper Bar," Shani replies to his cohort's question. The party had broken up long ago, but Oruga and Shani remained in place, enjoying drinking beers and taking to the bartender, who recounted the story of how he had become a bartender and chef by way of being demoted from an Armor Sniper.

"I know he was pushing his luck on drinks, wonder why," Oruga comments after another few steps.

"That girl he was off-and-on flirting with probably knifed his heart out and diced it up for a salad," Shani replies quite coldly, much to the dismay of a couple female Aerospace Techs in the hall nearby. Oruga noticed their sour expressions, but said nothing. It had taken him all of four hours to really learn that respect worked in every direction among the Magi, and that included being at least civil if you told someone that you weren't going to accept an invitation to a date. Magi didn't get violent or sharp in such things unless someone didn't get the hint. Not so among the population from Earth, whom that Astray pilot was definitely a member thereof.

"Could be," Oruga replies. "No, I take that back, given she was moving in a group most of the day, likely that's what happened."

"Check the usual dive?" Shani was referring to the Club 300, where he was frequently found wasting time, money and effort. Most Magi ladies found him to be boisterous and arrogant, especially when drunk, which turned on some but drove away far more. As was expected, he did not get any 'action' courtesy of such efforts, but was making himself rather well known, which itself could lead to something in time to come...

"Yeah, might as well," Oruga says before starting off in that direction. The distance was almost a full kilometer from the dock collar at the _Dominion_ to said club, a brisk walk would take them ten minutes to get there.

Oruga took the time to reminisce about the changing fortunes he was undergoing. The next battle would probably be the big one that decided the course of life in the Earth Sphere, and he was guessing the Magi were about to completely break down the 'hate machines' of both sides and give them a lesson in 'honorable conduct toward fellow beings' or something to that effect. In short, it was going to be a loud and violent tour de force starting with major planning and staging, then ending in the most Gods-be-damned EPIC beatdown ever seen in the history of modern warfare. Or, more appropriately, as seen in the history of this dimension's modern warfare. The title of 'most epic beatdown' had already been issued out to the Magi over an eon past, at the end of the Star Empire Wars. Almost the whole armed forces of the Empire had been mobilized against the Negaverse, who were themselves suffering a rather bipolar revolution in their own ranks, for the purpose of crippling their ability to continue the war. Operation Moonlight Thunderbolt ended the war right then and there by literally destroying or capturing more than half of a whole Star Empire in less than a month. Even the history books said they could not adequately express the sheer size of the operation, and how everyone and their dog thought it would not work...until after it worked.

"You know, I think Hess blew it at the end of the Star Empire Wars," Oruga says out of the blue, no forewarning or lead-in to Shani.

"Huh? You mean the former Division Commander of the Magi, Erich Hess? How'd he blow it?" Shani had taken the time to learn the core points of the history, and promised himself he would learn more when he had the time, but training and teamwork mattered now more than history.

"He was in position to become the Emperor when the original Emperor resigned his position."

"Nope, wouldn't have happened," Shani replies. "Hess didn't want the position, the Emperor didn't want to give it to him really, and Hess walked away with the best prize of them all at the end: his freedom from a literally damned job and a wife like no other."

"Damn straight a wife like no other, how did a classic big guy like him end up with someone that small?" Oruga asks. "If I didn't know better from reading about it, I would have guessed she's maybe fifteen?"

"Huh?" Shani asks as they continue walking. "What do you mean? She didn't look all that small to me."

"Dude, are you sure we're talking about the same person here? Princess Hotaru Tomoe, Princess Saturn of the Star League?" Oruga clarifies.

"Yeah, that's who," Shani replies. "She ain't that small."

"Dude! I could pick her up and use her as a baseball bat and the umpire wouldn't know the difference unless she made a squeaking sound when I hit the ball, she's that small."

"Dude, she is not that freaking small, and I'd hate to see how much of you is left if you tried half the shit you just thought about," Shani's tone, despite the clear implication of death to one of his best friends, was still very matter-of-fact about the matter.

"Why?"

"Supposedly, both of the two, Hess and Tomoe, very vigorous in defense of themselves and each other. Anyways, back to the main conversation, It was Hess's successor that got the real short-end of the stick when the Emperor abdicated."

"His successor...which one was that?"

"Division Commander Usagi Serenity-Atrebas, later Empress Serenity of the Multimage Empire," Shani notes offhand.

"Oh, yeah, the one that brought the Empire down from the 3500-year wartime footing it had been on to the stand-down it was in before the _Mjolnr_ got jumped and jumped in here. She even managed to do it so the Empire didn't self-destruct under the collapsing weight of the combat troops." That such took almost 400 years to completely stand down was not mentioned between them, but both knew it took that long.

"Prescient for us," Shani says in a heartfelt fashion. "Who knows if we'd survived without the Magi pulling our butts out of the fire."

"We'd already be dead," Oruga replies with the finality of the death sentence he implied. "Freedom and Justice would have disassembled our Gundams with us still in them, eventually."

"Oh, those pussies," Shani spat his contempt for the pilots of said Gundams. "Those two are about as decisive and scary as a wet fucking noodle. Pretty boys piloting Gundams without a damn clue what they're trying to accomplish, or how to do it. If they used a quarter of the brains everyone says they have, this war would have been over last month and we'd be sitting on a beach somewhere, collecting twenty percent."

"Can't argue that," Oruga replies before thumbing the access control to open the door to the Club 300.

"Oh shit, you thr—huh?" the Barkeep begins, but halts himself. "Hey, where's the pink-haired boy-toy of your trio?"

Shani and Oruga exchange worried glances. "He's not here?"

"No, but a couple of the ladies want to have a word with him, if you know what I mean," the Barkeep says.

Again, Shani and Oruga exchange a worried glance. "We've gotta go, thanks for the heads up," Shani replies cautiously.

"I'll tell Clotho he's wanted after I get my hands around his scrawny neck," Oruga says before heading for the door.

"Oh shit, where is he?" Shani asks.

"If it was too much rejection, would he...?" Oruga asks.

"The Small Arms range and sims," Shani half-shouts as he began jogging toward said rooms, which were at the far end of the ship (almost adjacent to the Reactor Room).

-x-

As Mayura headed into the adjacent shower room for the quarters (added to the ship by the wondrous Nanomachine systems the Magi had), Clotho flopped down on his bed and simply stared at the ceiling, doing nothing more than thinking.

_Do I want to try with her? She knows, knows what I was, she probably ain't going to want to have anything to do with a confirmed psycho like me any more_.

Clotho reached over to his personal effects shelves, past the video games and to the computer memory units that he had 'acquired' that were loaded with ancient music. With a long HDT (1) cable, he jacked the portable bubble-memory drive into his media console and waited the obligatory three seconds for the console to interpret what it was just fed. With that done, the Raider pilot began scanning through random listings on the drive to find something to listen to and clear his head. "Hrmm, _Megadeth_, never heard of them," Clotho grumps, seeing an entry listed in the 'United States, 1990 AD' collection. His finger tapped on a random song from the album, _Sweating Bullets_.

_I dunno_, he thinks during the opening strains of the song, _she may be a bit stronger than average. I still don't think she'd want anything to do with a Earth Alliance Extended reject like me, though_. He smiles wickedly, remembering a veritable catch-phrase among Magi: 'Do it right or die trying' might as well be the national motto as far as he could tell. _Do it right, or die trying...well, in this case, it would be 'die trying'. She says 'no' and I try, oh yes, I would die trying_, he thinks as the wicked smile gets larger. More than one Marine made it clear to him that rapists were considered 'target practice' among the Magi. Rape, murder, treason, espionage, gross negligent homicide, five crimes (and their 'attempted' variants or possibly 'mass-' variants) that always came up with mandatory and expedient execution as the sentence.

_God, that just went on the most nasty tangent I could think of_, Clotho grumps. _How the hell did I go from getting laid to being an Extended to the death penalty_? Clotho asks himself wordlessly. _That was so wrong, it should be illegal itself_, he grumps mentally after a moment of silence.

The sound of the shower was distinctive, due to the way it had been made. It sounded much like a regular shower, but it sounded like it was inside a metal pipe because the ship was constructed almost completely of titanium and laminates. Gravity, like on any other Magi ship, was supplied by the Gravitic Lattice, thereby drawing the water drops down to the coated titanium flooring in the shower and can room. A very distinct sound, almost like rain on a tin roof. Clotho knew exactly when she started the shower up...

"I could go try peeking," he muses in a mutter. "Bah, I'd never forgive myself for cheating like that. Not to mention she'd probably rip my face off and wipe her ass with it. Must play to win."

As the song belted out the lyrics 'Well me, it's nice talking to myself; a credit to dementia', Clotho rolled over and faced away from the bathroom door, staring at the wall below his personal effects storage. "Damn, this ain't no game," he complains to the wall, then sighs. "This must be what the Magi mean by cold, hard reality, I guess. And it sucks."

-x-

"Oh shit, where is he?" Shani asks almost in a panic, after having failed to find him in the shooting range. For some reason, he just could not stand the thought of having to go into battle without that 'retard rocket' Clotho.

"Where else would he be?" Oruga asks, now himself starting to take on a panic edge.

"South Side Grill?" Shani asks in reply.

"Nah, he hates that place."

"His quarters?" Shani adds. "Hey, mechanic," he prompts as he approaches one of the ubiquitous technicians that really ran the ship. "You seen this stiff?" Shani holds to him a photo of the missing Gundam pilot.

"Neg, not a clue where he is," the tech replies. "Kinda impressive, though. What's up?"

"He's gone missing after a drinking binge, and a run-in with a female pilot from Orb."

"Pity, then," the tech replies. "You checked the shitcans? He may be somewhere puking his guts out if he went on a binge."

"No, thanks," Shani declares. With the picture returned, he moves away and heads down the hall at a brisk pace. "Wait a second, was he..."

"He was, though nothing like what I expected out of a gay guy," Oruga replies.

"That's because they never get gay guys right in books or on the telly," Shani replies. "That kinda creeps me out, I'd've walked by him a hundred times and never known. I need some brain bleach."

"Later, amigo," Oruga orders immediately. "You get the various 'cans on the port side, I have the starboard. Work your way forward until we find the schlub or run out of shitcans."

"Right, then what?" Shani asks, though Oruga ignored it since he was walking away.

Oruga spared the question no thought, instead getting to the task that he thought would be what would be needed to chase down the errant Gundam Pilot. Thus, he moved to the nearest bathroom facility, one of about a hundred throughout the ship. Smaller ships could get away with the otherwise random locations of individual bathrooms, but larger ships could better spare only a few locations for the major plumbing of such locations. On the _Mjolnr_, not even the Star Admiral had his own bathroom.

"Hello? Clotho, you in there?" Oruga asks inside the door to the men's side of the facility.

"Mrnnnh," someone groans back.

"Clotho? That you?" Oruga prompts again.

"Unnhh, who the fuck is Clotho?" the moaning guy inside asks.

"Oh, sorry, man," With a quick peek to confirm he was not in there somewhere and passed out, Oruga was on his way to the next facility, which was a hundred meters north of the one he just checked and down two levels, a fairly easy transit down in this area of the ship because the ladders were still marked by the red caution stripes, instead of having been painted over by the fan artists.

Down one ladder, turn a corner, head north thirty meters, down another ladder, turn one corridor, and he could see the door of the bathrooms ahead of him. On his transit, he noticed someone in a blue uniform—something rare among Magi, but not impossible—just leaning against a wall. He checked, though without the pink hair he knew it was not Clotho, and he decided to keep going.

"Stand fast, Gundam Pilot Sabnak," the officer says as he walks a pace past her.

"Huh?" Oruga did stop, if only to look more closely at the lady who had just ordered him to stop. In his study of the basics, he had learned quickly that a three-point daggerstar as a lapel pin meant a Strategic Officer, someone that technically outranked everyone on the ship if you took a literal interpretation of her duties. "Oh, shit, sorry ma'am, didn't know it was you," he says as he comes to attention and salutes.

"Don't worry about the formalities, you outrank me in terms of combat placement and duty profile. I just tell people where to go."

Oruga dropped the salute, which after the fact he realized that Magi do not salute, they come to attention and sometimes bow (but even the latter was not a requirement). "Ma'am, I'm looking for—"

"Clotho Bauer, yes, I know already. First off, he is alive, so stop looking like you're about to shit a brick out sideways." If Oruga could look any more relieved, how was lost on the officer. "Second, he is not injured, incapacitated, or ill from alcohol poisoning, though on the latter I am quite surprised. Given how much he has had to drink today, he should be in the med ward, not where he is right now."

"You know? For God's sake, tell me! Err, ma'am," he tacks on to sound at least slightly judicious.

"No, I am not going to tell you where he is, simply because right now he is in the middle of sorting out an issue that you do not need to interfere in, clear?" She pulls her lapel radio microphone and dials in a number set, then activates the microphone. "Shani Andras, report to corridor Delta-83-Bravo-8 immediately. Repeat, Gundam Pilot Shani Andras, report to corridor Delta-83-Bravo-8 immediately. Thank you." She releases the microphone switch and clears the radio code. "I'll explain when he gets here. Sort of."

It took three minutes for Shani to cross the ship side to side and get to the requested corridor. "What's goin' on, who—whoa!" he brings himself to a full stop when he realizes who had called. "Uh, Strategic Officer—"

"I already know, pilot," she replies tersely. "I am here to stop you from interfering in a matter you have no business in, clear?"

"So he's alive?" Shani asks.

"Alive and very well. Where he is I shall not say, but you can rest assured he is in no jeopardy, unless you two, erm, get in between said pilot and his matter at hand."

"Why do I get the felling I'm being shined on?" Shani asks Oruga.

"Your 'feelings' couldn't lead you or anyone else on a straight march to a whorehouse, Shani," Oruga replies tersely. "Beggin' your pardon, ma'am."

"That's better than the incident that got me shitcanned to this ship, pilots," despite her declaration, she was slightly blushing. "One other thing. Your commanding officer, Gerald Lightbringer, dropped an interesting request on me. Apparently, you two have not had your mandatory small arms qualifications rounds. He requested I track the two of you down, get you cleaned up, and put you through your paces. Clotho has already done the quals and several extended training sessions, so..."

"We're behind that dill-weed in qualifications?" Oruga asks, clearly shocked.

"Can't have that," Shani replies in a voice that clearly freaked the Strategic Officer out. "So, ma'am, which way to get cleaned up?"

"Back to the Club 300, gentlemen. I don't have any buzz-killers with me right now, and you need them."

"If we're going that way, shouldn't we hit our quarters and slip into tactical uniforms instead of street clothes?"

"If you think loud about dodging, Century Commander Lightbringer and the Range Warden will have your asses for mulch and fertilizer for the hydroponics garden, clear?" If she could sound any more resolved about the matter, how was lost on Shani.

"Aff, ma'am," for what it was worth, Oruga had a clear new respect for the Strategic Officer, who was practically as small as he had claimed Princess Tomoe was, issuing rather grotesque and blood-curdling threats to two Gundam pilots she had to know could easily break her in two with bare hands only. It was only after that thought that he remembered a disparate rumor about said officer: she had come to this ship by way of capping an attempted rapist with a pair of .45 shots to the ten-ring on the bastard's chest. He checked as she turned away to begin walking north, and much as he expected the Strategic Officer was wearing an older-model Mark 23 combat pistol, one that the bluing was rubbed off in several places, and she had four magazines on the other side, all in fast-draw tactical holsters. _Serious shit, indeed_, he thinks wryly.

"Now, what's this shit you were running about Executor Hotaru Tomoe?" Calamira prompts of the two as the three of them begin the arduous march to the Club 300.

-x-

For Mayura, the shower had not taken too much effort or even time, though she did feel a bit strange that she did not have a change of clothes to accompany.

What was taking time for her was the thought of where to go from here. She could faintly hear Clotho's music over the sound of the running water, though it was not so loud that she could truly hear the lyrics, just the instruments and the downbeat. It was rather refreshing to her that he was listening to music instead of trying to peek into the shower. What else he was doing, though, she had no guess.

_What should I do? He's an extended, he could flip out if I do anything...or nothing. He might not be as unstable as I heard them, but he just don't feel right either way. Do I want to take a chance?_

The war raged on inside of her for a few minutes, all the while sitting under the shower spray and just basking in it. Besides thinking, it was Mayura's firm desire to enjoy the shower for all it was worth, as the _Kusanagi_ was what the Magi termed a 'water-poor ship.' If she had the chance to take a shower a week on the _Kusanagi_, she was doing good—and all that being a 'dry' shower: thirty seconds of water to drench yourself, a few minutes of lathering, and about a minute and a half to rinse off. Such was the fate of seamen and sea-women for centuries, and now was no different. Except, the Magi did do it differently, and she was determined to enjoy it. Silently, Mayura wondered if she could fast-talk her way into one of the Magi hot-springs that were rumored to be on the ship.

_It doesn't matter. If I duck out, I'm taking a chance, if I do it, I'm taking a chance. Maybe I should ask him? See which way he is leaning. At the least, I can guess how bad he'll react if I do try to duck out_.

A rapid shift in water temperature from hot to cold got her attention, and just like that the shower was over. As she stepped out to dry off, a glance at the bulkhead-mounted clock told the tale well enough: she had been in there twenty minutes, far more than she ever expected to spend in the shower on her ship. It was worth it, in her estimation, even if now she could expect to have to face a helluva choice as soon as she walked out the door. Silently she dressed up again, basic street clothes nothing like an Orb officer's uniform, but easily more comfortable. In considering of uniforms, she wondered if the great tomboy herself, Princess Cagalli, would take to the battlefield in the next (and anticipated final) battle of the war, given she now had an assembled and ready Gundam to do battle in. The unit was a match to the Strike Gundam that Kira Yamato had made infamous, but one major difference had been laid to this machine: where Orb engineers had thoroughly given up on the IWSP Striker pack and consigned it to the scrap heap, Magi engineers had stepped in. Six hours of 'moderate effort' (their words, not Cagalli's description) and the Strike Rouge IWSP launched from the _Mjolnr_ for a field test. Cagalli had scored well, not well enough to destroy a Fireball Aerofighter outright, but well enough to turn the average Mobile Suit into an impromptu coffin for its unwary pilot.

_How the hell did I end up going from Extendeds to psycho stalkers to pleasurable showers to Gundams_? The question itself was jarring to Mayura, who never really considered herself one to chain thoughts together in such process, especially such disparate thoughts as psychos, showers and Mobile Suits. Only after silently considering it for what seemed of an eternity, she realized that she always thought like that. A single thought could segue into many subjects, none related, and yet all logical. She silently wondered if this was a common problem or if it was just some people. _Maybe Clotho would know_, she grumps, now peeved that she had overlooked something so simple.

Dressed and ready to 'face the music' (such as it was—it had quieted down a large amount), she stepped out and into the bedroom area. Clotho was listening to something that was all drums right now, the terminal next to his bed glowing luminescent violet with a wire running across the top of his pillow and into the personal effects rack above his bed. "What is this?" She asks out of reflex, always wondering what music was playing (since she never had time to listen at length and learn the songs).

"_Inna Gadda Da Vida_, by _Iron Butterfly_. Sixteen minutes of made-on-drugs classic metal."

"Made on drugs?" Mayura asks for clarification.

"This is evidence enough that weed does weird shit to people, and the discography says that was the least of what they were on when they wrote this mashfest. Strangely enough, it is catchy."

"You say so," Mayura replies. "You listen to this much?"

"No, not really. Music is Shani's big thing, I'm more of a gamer than a head-banger." He waves a book in her direction. "And how Oruga can stand to read this junk is beyond me. Nonsensical, the whole freaking thing. Alice in Wonderland is another case of something written on drugs, despite what the author said about it. Too much of a mindfuck to be anything but an acid trip in written form."

"Now that I listen to you, I'm not sure what you are," Mayura says.

"Huh?" Clotho asks in surprise at the twist of the conversation.

"You sound like a normal guy, not some cold killing machine the Earth Alliance churns out of their Extended program."

"It's not common knowledge, the Magi have had to deal with this thing before. A lot. Their doc fixed the chem poisoning those rat bastards used on us to keep us in line, but it went farther. The Strategic Psionic, Calamira, went inside the three of us while we were still unconscious and awakened the repressed parts of our personalities, the real 'us' we buried so we could survive the training. It was bloody simple for her, she just reached out, reached through all the hatred and the insanity, and that's it. I'm just a normal guy with an extensive background in combat, now."

"That's all it takes? Just unlocking the real person buried inside someone gone mad?"

"Not always, she told me. Sometimes the person becomes insane, as in they don't bury their being, they really become completely mad. There isn't much help for those kinds of people."

"What happens then? When someone can't be helped?"

"I don't know, but I'm guessing it won't be good for anyone."

_He really isn't different...or this is a helluva good act_, Mayura thinks. Slowly, she was leaning more toward the former.

-x-

"Strategic Officer?" the Warrant Officer in charge of the qualification testing asks, clearly shocked to see her. "Oh, escorting to quals?" He asks after Shani walks in behind Oruga.

"Aff," Calamira replies. "And myself, as well."

"Oh?" He checks the terminal for records. "Oh, yes, you are due for quals in three weeks. All right, how do you want your targets?"

"Basic Humans-types," Calamira replies.

"Huh?" Shani asks.

"Trust me," Calamira says to the slightly taller Gundam pilot.

"All right, put 'em on," first the obligatory eye and ear protection, followed by a standard holster belt for pistol and magazines, and lastly a light mesh vest which had the storage for assault rifle magazines, grenades, and grenade launcher rounds, all considered basic weapons by the Magi. The last thing included was the typical Gladius sword, seldom really carried into battle any longer but always considered a fundamental part of the infantry arsenal.

"Jeez, this is going to cramp my style, I can't move fast," Shani groans.

"Speed ain't armor, kid, especially in infantry battles. You run around trying to dodge fire and there will always be someone on the other side with enough sense of humor to shoot you in the ass for your folly," the Warrant Officer says.

"Oh," Shani replies. Somehow, that lesson had not quite made it into Extended training, though very little of their training consisted of stand-up battle training—Oruga likened what he learned to the art of covert strikes and infiltration, not pitched battle. Shani had come to like Magi thinking about direct engagement combat, using superior forces to take out larger amounts of enemy units, and how Magi will use maneuver to draw the enemy into disadvantaged positions, then hit them when they aren't prepared for it. And all of it relied on each individual soldier being the best they could be.

"Yeah, running and jumping are good for squeezing the enemy, but they won't save your ass even in close quarters. Draw arms and get ready," and he indicates the racks of standard weapons.

"Oh, holy shit, we have to qualify with all of these?" Oruga asks, looking up and down his rack.

"Bet your ass on it, kiddies," the Warrant replies. "Pistol, rifle, knife, sword, shotguns, sub-machineguns, light machine guns, heavy machine guns, infantry-portable lasers, particle cannons, short-charge Autocannons, anti-tank rockets, anti-tank guided missiles, grenades, grenade launchers, demolition charges, and improvised combat procedures, such as picking up enemy weapons and environment objects to defend yourself. Every weapon has its place and purpose, I hope the Earth Alliance taught you enough about battle to know when, where, and how to use them."

"They didn't teach us a third of that shit," Shani says. "Begging pardon, ma'am," he nods to the Strategic Officer.

The Warrant sighs. "Greenhorns. Lovely."

"I think they can manage," Calamira replies.

"Engineering, Training," the Warrant requests into a radio.

"Go," someone replies on the Engineering band.

"Be advised you may have to make extra power available to the live-fire room for shielding and IDF, I think I am going to be at it for some time here."

"Roger that, Control has been notified. Engineering, out."

"Marine Stores from Training, come back," he continues on a different band.

"Whaddya want, yeh lousy bah'std?"

"Six loads of basic qual, you skunk-drunk chicken shit. And be prompt about it, I ain't got all day, nor does the brass down here."

"Tell that brass they can suck my long-rod penetrator," the obviously-hosed Quartermaster on the other side says.

"Bad choice of words, duck-fucker extraordinaire, this piece of brass has already killed one politico Admiral in her life. Don't give her reason to add you to the list. Now get your ass in gear before I send these three down there to 'motivate' you, _comprende_? Training is out."

"Yeah, yeah," the Quartermaster replies on the channel.

"You can slap him around when he gets down here, he'll be good for it by then. It'll be ten minutes given how hosed he sounds."

"An ordinance handler drunk on the job?" Calamira asks to clarify what was going on.

"Only today. We trade insults and orders at the same time, but he's never belligerent to brass unless he's hosed, like today. And he really isn't on duty, at that, he was scheduled off. Can't blame him for being pissed off, really, but he does deserve to lose a tooth or two for this."

"I'll see to that, ma'am, unless you object?" Shani asks. Calamira didn't really reply, leaving the issue open for now.

"All right, we'll do this by the numbers. Pistols first, since I hope you all can handle that much," the Warrant begins, having that much ammo on hand and ready for them. "Load up and get ready to begin your crash course in Infantry armaments."

Oruga, Shani and Calamira all pull their empty magazines and begin the almost-ritualistic loading process. The day promised to be long, loud, violent, hot, sweaty, and wholly satisfying. And that was without any side bets...

-x-

"An unusual question came to me a few minutes ago. Have you ever had one of those rambling thoughts that goes from subject to subject to subject without any delay, and no clue how you cross subjects?"

"That's standard operating procedure for us," Clotho replies with a chuckle. "We've gone from discussing Earth Alliance to Mobile Suits to movies to fish eating other fish to space travel in five minutes of conversation. And you're squirreling about something."

"Huh?" Mayura asks.

"You're dodging something, and being antsy about it."

"I—oh, man, I know you'd see through it," Mayura grumps.

Clotho sighs. "I knew you'd rescind your bet. To even think that'd be cool, you'd have to be drunk, and after sobering up it probably sounds like a stupid idea now, right?"

"No, actually," Mayura begins, then pauses. "I still think it was a hilarious idea. I was just...unsure...on how you'd react."

"Huh? Now you lost me."

"I thought you might go psycho on me if I tried dodging, or if it looked like I tried dodging, or I thought you might go psycho on me once we got into it, or...what's so funny?" Clotho was chuckling about something.

"The Extended psycho is long gone. I mean, if you want me to I can act crazy, but the only time we get 'out of hand,' according to our CO, is whenever something needs cleaned, like the Gundams or such. He's always accusing Shani of trying to get out of cleaning, even up to and including bribery."

_That's it? That's the worst they've been accused of? I may have been worrying about nothing, then_, Mayura thinks aloud. "Eh, that's crap everyone has to do."

"Look, if you don't want to follow through, don't. Just take a nap and head back to the _Kusanagi_ when you can walk straight. I ain't going to flip out or anything like that, but I will have to declare myself winner by default, since you backed out of the bet."

"Oh, that is so lame," Mayura replies immediately.

"Lame, but true," Clotho corrects her. "Not that I could claim much credit on it, but true."

"Bullshit you won the bet, I never declared myself out," she replies haughtily, showing just the edge of her continued buzz. "Can't win by default if the opposition never surrendered, can you?" It was also her latent competitiveness that drove forward the tirade, even over the diminished ration of restraint she had on the subject, courtesy of how much she had to drink over the course of the day. She knew she made the bet and Asagi would never let her live in peace if she backed out. Not to mention, she figured she ran the chance of actually winning the bet, in her estimation.

"Really?" Clotho half-barks at her. "If you're so unwilling to back out, why you still sitting on Shani's bed?" Clotho's remaining buzz showed, though he could tell most of it had bled off in the nap and shower.

"Really?" The bare meter distance between the beds was perfect for her to spring up, vault across the gap, and land on Clotho with a linebacker's tackle.

"Holy shit! What the fuck was that?" Clotho asks in a clear daze, not entirely focused on Mayura who was now on top of him.

"What? You think I am going to make it easy on you? This is a bet, after all, and you're all big into competing and that, so I'm going to make you earn it. Now, your mission, Clotho Bauer, is to make it worth it for me. Fail that, and you will forever be a loser," she taunts from her hands and knees position over him.

"Mission accepted, game on," Clotho replies almost arrogantly. The logical starting place was her belt and pants, but that only took one hand for the dexterous Gundam pilot. The other hand he put to work on her shirt and bra. The instructors in his 'social norms' class had been rather thorough about explaining at least that part of the matter...

-x-

"This is insane!" Oruga shouts over the sound of charging particle cannons. "How the hell do you kill one of those things—ah!" he shouts as the enemy moved his shield, giving Oruga a clear shot at the armor and more importantly the head. One shot of the particle cannon was enough to blow through the faceplate on the Negaverse Armored Infantry, and the trooper in simulation went down hard.

"In normal combat procedure you would be wearing at least one of these Particle Cannons on your own Infantry or Marine Armor, if you were so inclined. Civilians would use them from a static fortification or somewhere where they could connect it to a fusion reactor," the Range Master says. "Continue firing, Sabnak, take out some infantry at range."

The gun range on _Phalanx_-class ships worked on a very simple principle: anything carried by infantry had to be usable for practice, including warshots if needed. For the Magi, this was a simple feat of engineering. Firstly, the ballistic and explosive weapons were subject to being stopped and cooked off at a distance by an IDF, or Inertial Dampening Field. Turned up high enough, said IDF would stop even the fastest-moving physical projectiles cold in less than a meter's travel. For the energy weapons, the wall the projected targets occupied was guarded by a Light Shell Generator, which technically worked against anything but worked best against energy weapons. A third barrier, an IDF aligned in the opposite direction, prevented fragmentation from coming back toward the trainees. In this fashion, anything used would be sufficiently stopped in transit and still count for the simulation. This protection allowed for absolutely unholy amounts of firepower to be expended and not one whit of it would damage the hull of the ship, the wall that was being targeted, or the trainees..

"Aim small, miss small," the Instructor declares. "If you go for headshots all the time, you will eventually miss them, and doing so highlights you as a serious threat to the enemy. Focus center mass, but always be wary of enemy shields and defensive measures."

"Isn't that the toughest armor?" Shani asks.

"Yes; keep in mind, however, that all armor will eventually fail. If you are fighting Armored Infantry, hammering on them will in due time reduce capabilities and cause casualties, especially if you are operating in equal or better numbers and with appropriate equipment."

"It is recommended you shoot here," and Calamira demonstrates on a stationary target with her PPC, a shot which hit the under-protected thigh in the 'absolute territory', "or here," and she shoots for the upper arm area not concealed by the shoulder plates. "Areas where only the base plate are at, not the heavy plates, but if a target is moving or at longer ranges, always shoot for the center. You will be better off scoring hits there and biding your time than else."

"Like this?" Shani hammers the trooper he was on in one leg, then the other, causing him to collapse.

"It is still recommended you aim center mass, pilot, but the principle holds," the Range Master grouses. "Oruga, you are at basic level for your PPC, you can move onto PBC weapons or go for a mastery."

"Switching now," Oruga had only taken a mastery on the shotgun and assault rifle thus far, whereas Shani had gone for his mastery of all automatic weapons (four types under Magi classifications), the sniper rifle, and the pistol. After a few moments, he returned with the requested weapon. "Is this it, or is this a grenade launcher?"

"A bit of both," the Range Master replies. "Load it with a chamber cartridge and jack into the power grid."

Oruga was a bit confused as to how it was supposed to work, but did as ordered. The ammunition for the device came in a helical two-stage magazine, listing over 550 rounds per mag, which he attached to the weapon and rotated one-quarter clockwise to engage. Immediately the weapon fed and chambered a round, though it did not charge up until after he jacked it into the room's power source. The PBC was a massive undertaking in its own right, classified as a 'nontrivial secondary weapon' among the Magi, and the oblate hexagonal frame came with a shoulder pad and control handles for an unarmored defender to use it. The whole assembly had to weigh twenty kilos or more, not counting the monster amount of power packs that would surely be needed to charge and fire it.

"It acts like a grenade launcher, so treat aiming it just like the 40-millimeter you used on the M4, follow?"

"Aye, sir," Oruga replies, sights up a target hiding behind a rock, and depresses the trigger. The weapon made an almost-unholy electrostatic charging sound for a second, then launched the projectile. A glowing-red ball of something went downrange until it struck the Light Shell near the projection and detonated. What was a ten-centimeter ball became easily four meters of red-orange blast front radiating away from the point of impact, though the simulation showed him hitting forty meters behind where he was aiming and only destroying a tree. The temperature went up noticeably in the room before the air conditioning kicked up harder and cooled it off.

"Holy shit, sir, what was that?" Shani asks in clear surprise as to the weapon's effect.

"Compressed Mega Particles contained inside two nontrivial I-Fields. When the Mega Particles strike an object with more than a kilogram of mass, the Mega Particles convert the object struck into a blast wave that destroys its containment, and when those particles are loosed it acts like a grenade, only made out of plasma, not explosive filler."

"Hardcore shit, man," Oruga says. "How well does it work on Infantry Armor?"

"If the armor is not energy-ablative or super-magnetic plate, or if they have an I-field of their own, it converts the armor and the poor sod inside into plasma. The only real defense against it are anti-beam plating, which deflects the bulk of the Mega Particles away from the object it is attached to. Ships are defended by Shell Generators, but as I explained, no Infantryman can carry an I-Field or Shell Generator...yet."

"Damn good," Oruga replies, liking the weapon already. It was recharged for another shot, so he fired again, and this time after the real physical blast he was awarded with the picture of the rock not being there in the simulation any more, except as a ragged series of fragments scattered around a ten-meter radius. It went without saying that there was no more infantry rifleman back behind the rock, either.

-x-

Clotho knew he was getting somewhere when his ministrations caused her to collapse onto the bed, unable to maintain her hands-and-knees bracing during the activity. He knew he was getting somewhere farther when she stopped being so squirmy and instead started moving with his hands as they worked her body. It had been fifty minutes in the making, but he finally knew he won when he felt her body tense up, then shudder as she let out a massive sigh. Her whole body twitched with leftover energy and feeling, which was something amusing to Clotho. He had gotten off twice during just fingering her naked form, a latent problem from the fact that he never really had sex before, but she got off once and it caused such a reaction like that.

At the least, she was quiet about it; he always thought such things were supposed to be loud and shouting and such. All the porno vids he had seen mostly went out of their way to exemplify the screaming, and the louder, supposedly the better. Mayura was the complete opposite of what Clotho had come to expect: her body tensed up, warmed up, her cheeks flushed, breathing ragged, and a sharp gasp, and that was it. Hardly a sound out of her except for her left knee popping.

Mayura was still breathing heavily after a half-minute, though Clotho had pulled his hand back and was simply fondling her impressive bust. "That...was more than I expected, Clotho. A lot more."

Clotho barks a laugh. "Sounds like I get a 'pass' for the evening. So, what now, I wonder..."

She bats at his shorts, where his crank was standing up quite visibly. "I think you know what's next, unless you don't think you can do it after creaming yourself?"

"You know what I think of challenges like that," Clotho replies with an evil grin. "Round two," he says as he slips his shorts down and off.

Mayura knew this was going to be an interesting case when he missed her hole on the first shot, and would find herself not doubting that conclusion in the coming hour. Nor did she doubt it would be fun.

-x-

Shani dragged into the quarters, and was immediately accosted by the smell of pure humidity and soap. "Eh, that puke must've overused the showers again," he grumps, knowing it only smelled like this after about three long showers or four short ones.

A snore causes him to take a quick glance at the bed, and he saw a head there, facing away from the door, so he figured Clotho had called quits after getting his ass handed to him enough times in one day. That also followed in pattern, as far as Shani was concerned: whenever Clotho got to feeling scuzzy, he would take three or four showers in a row to cool off, clean off, and then crash.

Truth to tell, Shani was not far behind in the exhaustion department, the Strategic Officer had worked them to the point of collapse, though to good effect: Shani now knew the basic characteristics and handling procedures of classes of weapon he never knew existed. Particle Cannons were his new favorite toy, and he figured if the Magi survived he was going to start collecting them, maybe even using them. Such joy, blowing holes in just about anything shot at...

As he shuffled along, something his foot touched moved, and it wasn't an object he was expecting or even recognized. He stopped, examined it, and was shocked almost to the point of mortification when he realized what it was. "Holy shit," he grouses. "What is a bra doing in the floor?" Another snore, though of a different timbre from Clotho's typical, draws his attention back to said bed. On the other side of Clotho, he could just barely make out the figure of a second face. "Oh, holy fuck. Now I've seen it all. Clotho actually got somewhere, and on the girl that spent all day kicking his ass. I could die tomorrow and say I've seen it all," he mutters quietly, definitely not loud enough to wake them.

A sigh. "Fuck it. I'm too tired to do any shit related to this."

Shani hit the bed and crawled under the covers, still dressed. He would be better prepared for the drill the following morning than either of the two in the opposite bed, but it would hardly matter after everything was said and done.

* * *

Author's Chapter Afterword:

For today, that is as close as I shall get to lemon fics. Tomorrow may be another story.

All things considered, there were a couple times where I thought the dice may have killed off any chance Clotho had, but in the end the dice roll however they want, and the dice have spoken on the subject. The rolls governing the changing moods were 62, 32, 24, 77, 87, 95, 94, 68, 98. All rolls were generated at Random (dot) com, a site that uses random atmospheric noise to generate randoms instead of a pseudorandom generator like what a program would use. You can tell in the narrative where the 32 and 24 showed up very easily, where Mayura got pretty vicious on Clotho, but relented afterward.

You can expect this is going to have some interesting echoes in the main storyline, though I will leave such details to your imagination for the time being.

I had a lot of fun putting this story to words, I hope it is as entertaining to you as it was me. Feel free to drop me a review, regardless of how you feel about it. I would like to know if this was up to spec or not for my normal writing.

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Review Replies: Two reviews, better than I honestly expected for a cracked-out side story.

**Knives91**: And I have to wonder how I earned such a reputation for being a tough SOB, unless I'm missing something here? LOL, regardless, thanks for the compliment :) Hope this was up to your expectations.

**Gatomon41**: glad to know I can do the side characters a justice in my writing. I hate ti when otherwise interesting secondaries get shafted in favor of the predictable lead chars...

LOL about the Negaverse. Now that I have started up the MMC, you will see firsthand why the Negaverse are not pussies, though that will begin in Set 3 of that storyline.

I went back and corrected that shortsight on my part, I think I was sidetracked from my writing and had to walk away from my computer, then continued after forgetting where I was.

Hope this concludes everything to an acceptable note without being too perverted about it.

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The Gripe Sheet: One error caught by **Gatomon41** that I saw to. Explanation about the Special Recipe Mudslide and the ingredients. It has horsepower, trust me on that if nothing else, said drink has knocked veteran drinkers stiff after one mug of it.

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Footnotes:

(1): High Data Transfer, the Magi's successor to USB. Also, the connection points are made a little bit thicker to be more damage resistant and out of stronger metals like titanium to prevent easy damage to the connection points. Backwards compatible with USB devices.


End file.
